


saw you with your make-up running down

by girljustdied



Category: Skins (UK)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-24
Updated: 2012-07-24
Packaged: 2019-10-08 21:53:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17394371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girljustdied/pseuds/girljustdied
Summary: more lost time with cook and effy.  alternatives.





	saw you with your make-up running down

**Author's Note:**

> prompt was "this is how you make meaning, you take two things and try to define the space between them."

Never been filthier in her life.

Thinks, good.

All this skin, his and hers, but with dirt and grime in between. Hands clasped tight as they try to sleep in the back of an unlocked car, and yet not. Not her palm, not his, not touching, not ever.

Cook’s breath rattles and vibrates when he nods off. She knew this before, but now there’s a sort of everyday quality about it that makes her eyes drift shut. Pavlov, Effy remembers, Tony said—well, Tony said a lot of things. She wishes for her bed, and she wishes for quiet, and she dreams of the ocean where it meets the land. Wild little waves, wet sand squishing between her toes.

Wakes to the sound of Cook attempting to break open the ignition, wakes up alone in the backseat, and feels better.

“Fuck’s sake,” he hits the wheel, a sharp horn sound blaring out that makes her jerk, climb right out of the car, and slam the door shut behind her.

Effy walks, and counts the steps of space opening up between them, and tries to dull the static in her head that makes her feel like she ought to turn back. Any second now, she could, she should, she—

Doesn’t matter. His hand presses into the small of her back and he’s laughing as he tells her to leg it. She grabs his hand, not his hand, and runs. Laughs so shrilly, it’s almost a scream.

“Let it out,” he says after, one arm slung around her, palm touching the nape of her neck.

So she slides the condom down over his cock, then slides down herself, and lets it out.

“Where’re we going, Cook?”

He closes his eyes, then rests his forehead against her shoulder as they move too slowly against each other. Tired. Hiding.

It’s all right, she wants to tell him, see, they never touch. His hands slide from her hair to her jaw but his nails are black with soil, they’ve got a rubber, they’re safe.

“We’re okay,” she sighs. Says it again and again and again, first only in the exhales, but then in her sharp intakes of air as well.

“S’all right, Eff, s’all right,” he echoes. He’s trying to calm her, doesn’t get it—she’s fine, she’s perfect—he strokes her back and very suddenly she can’t tell the difference between her skin and his anymore, sliding together every place they meet, too slick with sweat. “Shh, c’mon, girl, breathe. Close your eyes.”

Can’t breathe. When he kisses her, she bites at his mouth until she tastes blood. Tastes like a dirty penny, tastes like dirt, and her chest loosens up again. Maybe he tells her that he loves her, but she’s never heard his voice so quiet, and he doesn’t try to catch her eyes. Tells it to the skin of her shoulder. Not her shoulder.

“We’re okay,” she promises, and doesn’t remember the rest of the night.

Wakes up to the feeling of something tickling her feet, her ankles—

Water.

She struggles to wake fully, sit up, drag her legs out of the lake they’ve found themselves on the edge of. Her head aches.

“Morning, sunshine,” Cook calls out from a few meters in, splashes about. “C’mere!”

Effy thinks that maybe she should stop speaking again. Never say another word, not a sound, not ever again. She ignores his voice until he finally wades back out. Grinds him down into the muddy bank with rough hands.

When it makes her smile, so does he.


End file.
